Sea of Grey

Catalepton, IX 47-48

PUBLIUS VlRGILIUS MARO 'VIRGIL'

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Proteus now had a distinguished list of names on her books for all the world to wonder at; there was a Howe, a Hood, an Anson, even a Byng. There was a skinny little runt going by George Rodney, another by Hawke, yet another was now a Cook, a massive teenager who still was growing (if such a thing were possible for someone already built like Atlas) was named Jones Nelson. And, of course, there was a Groome, to reflect his slave duties as a horsetender; a Carpenter, a Sawyer, even a Brewster, for a slightly older fellow who'd tended the vats where the molasses had been turned to rum. Along the same line, Proteus boasted a Newcastle, a Bass, and a Samuel Whitbread, in honour of their favourite imported English beers; even if they'd never been allowed a taste, the stone bottles and names emblazoned on them had been thought of as a white man's, their masters', ambrosia.

What Proteus did not have, though, were skilled sailors, for the new 'volunteers' were farmboys, landsmen, and 'new-caught fish,' about as ignorant of the sea as any clerk press-ganged from a Wapping tavern in London. And, to beat all, for the first few days the bulk of them were seasick, as well as homesick!

Lewrie had decreed a 'sea school' be formed, with the experienced tars, both White and Black, as the 'bear leaders,' to guide the newcomers about, name the myriad items of rigging and sails, and get them acquainted with their future duties. During this time, none were to be 'started,' even the stupidest.

Their frigate stood out from Hispaniola far to the Sou'east, to cruise along the southern shore of Saint Domingue, well out of sight from the port of Jacmel or any shore watcher, most especially of other Royal Navy ships that might get near enough to 'speak' her and wonder where Proteus had gotten all of her ham-fisted, puking amateur Black sailors.

And her newcomers had had a lot to which to adjust, besides the homesickness and nausea. The first few days, they'd been dazzled by their spanking-new slop-clothing uniforms, the 'privilege' of stockings and brass- buckled shoes (hastily put aside except for Sunday Divisions) never bought for field hands, the art of sleeping in a properly spread and hung hammock and its rolling-up each dawn, of scrubbing decks, and pulley-hauling-eating!- alongside White sailors. They had been at first amazed then incongruously daunted by that closeness, as if it were perhaps too much egalitarianism to digest at one sitting.

Certainly, their first sight of White sailors being 'started' by the bosun and his mates on their way aloft to trim or shorten sail before the almost-daily squalls had been a revelation; even if Lewrie never allowed petty officers to use the stiffened rope starters in real anger, just as instructive incentives to quicker action. And while it had been weeks since a man had merited a dozen lashes from the cat-o'-nine-tails, whilst lashed barebacked to an upright hatch grating, the idea of punishment for anyone in violation of the Articles of War that Lewrie had read weekly had sent them first into giggling fits, then a sombre reflection about upright behaviour, and just what they had gotten themselves into.

And the novelty of three square meals a day, with portions at least twice the victuals they had ever gotten as slaves, even on the rare holidays, was a wonder! For the first time in ages, Lewrie was just about dumbfounded to hear people rave over boiled salt meats, the pease pudding, or even the burgoo! And as for the daily rum rations, and the small beer…! The newlys agreed, though, that the rock-hard ship's biscuit was a peril to all mankind, but the currant duffs and the weekly figgy-dowdys were just handsome-fine. Even a 'Banyan Day' of cheese, beer, biscuit, and gruels pleased them, for now.

Then there was the matter of arms drill.

No one in the West Indies or the New World ever put weapons in a Black's hands, nor even in his close proximity for fear of revenge murder or full-blown rebellion. Even Black freedmens' rights to own weapons was strictly regulated. Here, though, the newlys were expected to become proficient with cutlass, hatchet, boarding pike, musket, and pistol, and were even allowed to purchase clasp-knives to hang on their belts (with the tips blunted like everyone else's) even if used for nothing more than whittling in off-duty hours, or for cutting their tough meat portions.

'Most enthusiastic students ever I did see, sir,' Lt. Devereux told Lewrie one morning off Santo Domingo, the Spanish half of Hispaniola, as the hands shot at towed kegs from the taff-rail. 'Even do I halfway suspect ulterior motives.'

'Such as, sir?' Lewrie asked.

'Well, sir, there's bound to be one or two using us as a school for later rebellion… like Irish volunteer soldiers who get paid by our Army to teach 'em how to fight us?' Devereux said offhandedly, as if he was merely joshing, after all. 'Where else might young Black men get the chance to learn weapons-handling as good as any European soldier or sailor? Or, do you come to it, sir, the art of the great-guns, and the use of artillery?'

'Over yonder, with L'Ouverture and his bully bucks,' Lewrie responded, jerking his chin northward. 'Or with our Jamaican Maroons.'

'Exactly, sir,' Devereux said with a sage nod, but with a wink, as well. 'But we got 'em young, so perhaps serving aboard our ship, where they'll get firm but fair and humane treatment, will be a civilising influence against rebellious thoughts.'

'Don't make me rue my decision, Mister Devereux,' Lewrie said, with a mock shiver. 'I've qualms enough, already.'

And how I let Cashman talk me into it, I'll never know! Lewrie thought anew; He's corruptin', and I'm weak and corruptible, just as he said. Always have been, and I doubt the sorry old plea of 'drink and bad companions ' will excuse me in court!

'Damme, but that wee Rodney fellow is a cracking shot, sir… e'en with our poor old muskets!' Devereux exclaimed.

Little 'George Rodney' had plumbed a round right in the center of the keg lid, in the second that it had swirled about end-on to the ship's stern, and at a creditable seventy yards, too! Sergeant Skipwith pounded him on the back in congratulations, and his mates whooped in shared glee, whilst Rodney's face lit up in ecstatic joy.

'Wonder what he could do with my Ferguson rifle, or with one of those fusils?' Lewrie said. 'We might detail him in the main-top as a sniper when we go to Quarters, alongside your Marines, 'ey, Mister Devereux? Make him a Marine…?' Lewrie japed with a wide grin.

'Well, uhm…' Lt. Devereux demurred, wincing and sucking his teeth. 'That might present a problem, sir. There have never been any Black Marines, and did we wish to experiment, as it were, my men would resent it mightily… most especially our five new volunteers we got from your Colonel Cashman's disbanded regiment.'

'I don't really intend to kit him out in pipe-clay and a red coat, Mister Devereux!' Lewrie said with an amused snort.

'Those five are West Indies-born and bred, or have lived here so long they've taken on local prejudices, sir,' Devereux explained, 'and strictures against armed Blacks most of all. Their regiment was lily-white, and you know how little mixing there is in island society.'

'Outside the sheets, that is,' Lewrie dryly commented.

'Uhm, aye, sir,' Devereux agreed shyly. 'So, should we station Rodney with a musket at Quarters, it might be best did he shoot from the bulwarks, but not in the tops with the Marines, sir.'

'Are they disgruntled, you're saying?' Lewrie demanded.

'Only mildly, sir… so far,' Devereux replied, his usual air of elegant detachment slowly shredding. 'They're happy, in the main, for another chance to 'soldier,' with their pay, uniforms, and rations. They're adapting well to most aspects of shipboard life… so much so that they're already expressing the.usual low opinion of sailors, and the superior air of Marines. None seem to be future disciplinary problems, though they're tough men, sir. No raging drunks or troublemakers have reared their heads… yet. A ship, though, with so many of her people Black…'